The Dark Companion
by Lady Jeweleyes
Summary: A story of the Valdemar heralds. An empath with a troubled past bonds with a "rouge" Companion. Can the Heralds save them? I've only read a few M.L. novels, so some things might not be correct, but please R&R anyway.
1. Birth and Death, Lives in the Balance

The Dark Companion  
Chapter I  
  
"Rains, rains, go away, and come back some other day." Weaponsmaster Laban chanted the old children's rhyme to himself as he surveyed the training grounds in the gathering dusk. It was early spring, and it had been raining for days over the Collegiums. The poor weather was starting to make everyone, healers, bards, and heralds alike, moody and impatient.  
  
The weather was even harder for the young heralds-in-training. Each day, the teens trained in all forms of combat, in all weather, under the critical eye of Weaponmaster Laban. Tall and lean, his arms and legs corded with muscle, Laban was the perfect image of a warrior. His face was deeply lined from years of training under the sun, and his long black hair, tied in a braid, was beginning to gray. Students often could not meet his steely blue eyes, fearing to find criticism and disappointment. In truth, Laban's eyes often reflected what the students disliked about themselves, which was Laban's unique talent, the power of empathy, for good or for bad. Due to weather and the physical stress of swordplay and wrestling, the youngsters were beginning to view their Weaponsmaster as an ogre of a man who liked nothing better to torture students to the point of physical and mental breakdown.  
  
Not true at all, Laban shook his head. It was harder than anyone knew to be an empath teaching defense and weaponry. For every student who cried tears of frustration and defeat after a hard session, Laban's mind cried along with them. The job was sometimes almost too much to bear sometimes, but when the trainees graduated from student Grays to herald Whites, the weaponsmaster's heart soared with pride. He had never let a student fail at his by giving up on him or her. All Heralds in training had the talent and strength to achieve their goals, some just didn't know it.  
  
Laban had another reason to be moody, besides the downpour. It was foaling season for the Companions, and his own Companion, the mare Sanaa, was due any time. Oh, how precious Sanaa was to Laban, his soul mate, and his heart bonded friend. He was fifteen when the Companion came for him, a young farmhand whose future did not look bright. His kinsmen had often said that Laban had very few wits, and no work ethic, he had seemed doomed to a lifetime of herding cattle and planting seeds. He could still recall every detail of the moment he had first looked into Sanaa's sapphire eyes, felt her unconditional love and acceptance, and knew he would never be lonely again.  
  
What had followed was the hard adjustment to Collegium life. Never really excelling at book learning, the Heralds had worked many long hours with the boy, figuring out his innate talent. His empathic nature showed through for younger and smaller students, Laban leaped to their defense when they were being bullied, and sat by their beds when they were sick or injured. After attaining his Whites, Laban and Sanaa had spent many years on border patrol, making sure territories maintained critical alliances and bringing peace to those who were disputing. Returning to the Collegium to take up the job of weaponsmaster from a venerable, but elderly teacher had been the challenge of a lifetime, but Laban had long depended on physical intelligence and knowledge of combat styles, and the job suited him well.  
  
Laban was now middle-aged, still spry enough for his job, but beginning to feel the effects of years of hard physical action. Strangely, Sanaa had never showed any interest in anything sexual, unlike Laban, who enjoyed the occasional tryst. So it had come as a shock to everybody when Sanaa had announced the past summer that she was gravid. By the Queen's Own Companion, Rolan, she had said rather smugly. Companions did not foal with the ease of horses, so constant monitoring was required during the foaling season.  
  
"Are you feeling, okay, love?" Laban anxiously Mindspoke his Companion. :You old mother hen, I'm fine: came Sanaa's reassuring chuckle.  
  
"Just checking." Laban sighed. :You worry too much: Sanaa's mental voice was bossy : You wear yourself out doing so. You're tired, I can tell. Go to bed, get a good night's sleep:  
  
"Yes Ma'am." Laban chuckled back. In truth, he was looking forward to a warm bed and forty winks, today's lesson in wrestling had been draining. Trudging up the flights of stairs make Laban's legs feel like iron, and he fell into bed without pulling off his Whites. As sleep closed in, Laban's thoughts were still vaguely uneasy.  
  
Laban gasped as a sharp pain exploded deep within his bowels, jolting him out of his dream. He sat up straight in bed, gripping the sheets as lightning flashed across the night sky, the rain pounding on the heavy, leaded windows. No need to Mindspeak his Companion, he knew that Sanaa was in labor. Pulling on boots and a cloak, Laban pounded down the stairs. A small, wiry youth almost collided with him as he rounded a corner. "Herald Laban!" the girl gasped, brushing wet hair from her eyes. "Sanaa has." ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
"I know, Jenfer!" Laban nearly choked on his words, another sharp pain made his muscles spasm, and Jenfer, looking alarmed, but his arm around his shoulders and helped him outside.  
  
Sanaa was pacing back and forth in the heated stable at Companion's Field. Her legs were rigid with tension, and there was sweat on her neck, making her fine mane stiff and tangled. Laban embraced his Companion's head, looking deep into the soulful eyes. "You are in terrible pain." Laban's eyes teared with the depth of his emotion. :It. It's not that bad: Sanaa's mental voice betrayed her as another contraction rippled her flanks. An elder Healer approached Laban. "May I.?" he asked. Laban cut him off, "Yes, anything do anything you can to ease her pain."  
  
With gentle hands, the Healer stroked and prodded the Companion, testing to see if he could rotate the foal in Sanaa's pelvis. "The foal's a big one." He said, worry clouding in his eyes. The other healers and Heralds were talking softly in the corner, their own Companions nearby, all fidgeting and casting worried looks at Sanaa, doubtlessly Mindspeaking words of comfort.  
  
The hours dragged as Sanaa labored. By dawn the Companion's Mindvoice was nearly incoherent with pain. Suddenly, her legs gave out, and she flopped into the straw, rolling and kicking, teeth bared, eyes wild. :IT BURNS!!: her mental voice screamed, red blood staining the bedding.  
  
"Lois, Jakob, get over here, now!! Bring me hot water, a needle and catgut thread, and coagulating herbs!" The elder healer lifted the Companion's soiled tail, revealing emerging hooves. Laban's empathic senses were overwhelming him. Fear, exhaustion, pain, and anxiety had completely brought down his mental barriers. Vision blurring body numb, he turned and vomited copiously into the straw, as two young Heralds held his shoulders. Sanaa gave a frantic squeal, and kicked at the air. The foal, still encased in the birth sac, slid forward into the Healer's hands.  
  
Laban looked up, wiping saliva and tears from his face. Sanaa's breathing was ragged, coming in short gasps. The traumatic birth of her foal had been too much. Sanaa's exhausted heart slowed. : My dearest.: the Companion sighed to Laban : I love you so much.: Sanaa wheezed a last breath, and her sapphire eyes rolled back in her head.  
  
"NO! Don't leave me! I NEED you!" every part of Laban's being shouted out his grief and despair. A fiery pain spread through his chest, and Laban's own heart contracted and stopped. I'm dying. Thank the Gods." Laban realized before the quiet dark embraced him. 


	2. A Loss No Words Could Explain

Laban woke slowly, in a haze of pain. His chest felt painfully compressed, as if some God had rested a mountain on his fragile body. The grief and shock of losing his Companion hit him all over again, there was an empty, dark space in his mind that should have been occupied by Sanaa's brightness and love. Gradually, he opened his eyes, wincing at the grey light that filtered in through the curtains of the Healers' infirmary. Two people were standing by the window, talking softly.  
  
"It is a miracle Laban survived a major coronary episode." The Healer stated. Laban looked through half-closed eyes at the stout, gray-haired figure. It was Healer Galen, the same man who had attended to Sanaa during her labor.  
  
"More like a terrible curse." The other person, a tall, stately woman replied. This was Zarah, the Queen's Own "Rolan conveys that all the Companions are mourning the loss deeply. To lose a Companion and survive." The Queen's Own bowed her head, communicating her pain and loss.  
  
Healer Galen glanced over at the bed, and smiled slightly. "Zarah, Laban has returned to consciousness." Galen lifted Laban's wrist, checking his pulse. "We all thought we had lost you a fortnight ago. When you passed out after your Companion's death, we all thought the worst, but the Bell did not ring. You are tougher than we ever could have imagined, my friend."  
  
Zarah sat down on a chair opposite Laban's bed. "And by the Gods, the foal survived, too. Everybody thought he would be delivered dead, but the little lad raised his head and started trying to get to his feet. Herald Timothy's Companion Charisse had foaled about two days previous, and volunteered to care for the orphan, bless her heart. She has named him Tynan."  
  
"Nobody doubts the love and willingness of a Companion." Galen shook his head in awe as he stirred a powder from a small glass tube into a beaker of dark wine. "Everybody hurts when one dies."  
  
"You'll be bedridden for a long time, I'm afraid." The Healer said, making eye contract with Laban "And out of active duty forever. There are few who survive episodes as massive as yours, and those who survive are in fragile health for the rest of their lives. I'm so sorry."  
  
Laban lowered his eyes from the Healer's face, his face contorting with physical and emotional pain. What did it matter now? His Sanaa was gone, his light was lost. Nothing matters now, Laban decided. He cradled his head in his hands, tears running down his fingers. Exhausted and ill, he sunk back down onto the pillow.  
  
Zarah sighed heavily, and took Galen aside. "Laban has suffered massive psychological damage. Many Heralds who lose a Companion and survive retreat into themselves, and never interact with others again. Don't expect him to be the same once he recovers from the episode." Zarah's hands clenched at her side, so hard that her knuckles turned white. Off and on through the years, she had been Laban's lover, and trusted friend, they had even had a child together, a daughter who was currently being fostered with relatives to the south. By the Gods, Zarah thought, it just wasn't fair! Not for him, not for me, not for anyone. Rolan's mind touched hers, communicating sympathy and acting as a balm on Zarah's wounded soul.  
  
"Here, give this to him." Galen pressed the goblet of wine into Zarah's hands. "It contains herbs to help him sleep and slow his heart, so there's less strain on the damaged areas."  
  
Zarah lifted the goblet to Laban's lips as Galen held his head up. The man drank thirstily, but his eyes were focused inwards, and red from tears. Galen pushed Laban gently back down on the bed. The former weasponsmaster did not struggle, or even respond to the Healer's touch.  
  
Zarah touched Laban's hand, it felt cold and clammy, as if some vital energy had been sucked dry. Laban's eyes closed, and he fell into a drug induced doze. Galen looked at the sleeping man "Someone should stay by him, in case he wakes or has another episode. I'll get one of my trainees to watch him." "No." Zarah shook her head, her voice cracking. "I'll be here for a bit. I need some time to think."  
  
"As you wish." Galen exited the room, shutting the door softy. Zarah clung to Laban's hand, weeping. Life goes on, a rational part of her mind chided, Heralds to train, conferences to attend, Royal business to be carried out. But for a moment it time, it did not matter to Zarah. All that mattered was doing as much as she could for a fallen fellow Herald. With a sullen rumble of thunder, the sky began to drizzle again, and somewhere on the Companion's field, a foal whinnied in fear. 


	3. A Gift Revealed and A Search Began

Thirteen and a half years later..  
  
The bird soared on widespread wings above the town, coasting on air currents, free to go wherever it pleased, its' joy infectious, liberating.  
  
"'Ey, quit daydreamin' and clean the table!" Dara jumped, startled out of her reverie by the harsh voice of her stepfather. The burly, ugly man slammed a meaty fist down on the bar's counter and pointed to the filthy rag dangling from Dara's hand. "Wash, or I'll take a switch to ye!" Frantically, the tall thirteen year old scrubbed at the pitted wooden surface, blowing tangled red hair out of her eyes.  
  
Life with brewmaster Orsin had been a living hell since Dara's mother had died of a fever two years ago. The prospering owner of the Mule and Cart inn, Gurit had been a smart businesswoman, maintaining a reputation for good food and cheap beds. That was until Orsin had come to the small town of Glensfarr, claiming to be a celebrated brewmaster from Haven. Dara's mother had been swept off her feet by the falsely charming man, and had turned the Mule and Cart into a joint venture. However, that winter Gurit was the first of many to sicken and die of a fever that swept through town, probably carried by a traveler on the nearby White Foal pass. Dara's beloved eight year old brother had also died, leaving Dara heartsick and lonely. Soon after, Dara's older sister had run away with a minstrel's caravan, after confiding to her sister that Orsin had been repeatedly raping her. "Get out, soon!" Dara's sister told her "You're no longer safe here!" tears in her eyes, Dara's sister had hugged her "You're strong, whatever happens, you'll be okay. Just trust in the Gods."  
  
Orsin had not yet laid a hand on Dara, but repeatedly vented his verbal rage on her, blaming her for everything from spoiled produce to a steady loss of customers. Maybe, Dara thought bitterly, it was because the beds were infested with lice, and the beer smelled like a privy. Only the most desperate of travelers would stay at the Mule and Cart now.  
  
"Getcher skinny behind over here, and dump the garbage!" Orsin thundered, lighting the stinking tallow lanterns in anticipation for the night's customers, if there were any. Wincing away from Orsin, Dara hurried into the cramped kitchen and grabbed the greasy pan containing congealed fat and other food refuse.  
  
Gratefully, she pushed open the back door that lead into the alleyway, letting slightly fresher fall air into the Mule and Cart. As usual, Dog was there, waiting for her. Like all towns, Glensfarr had its' share of half- feral mongrels who raided alleyways in search of food. One night, while hiding from Orsin, Dara had been cornered in the alley by a slobbering, growling mastiff type hound. Terrified, Dara had thrown the meat pie she held at the beast. Dog had bolted the food, and wagged his mangy tail. Dara was overcome with a sense of warm gratitude coming from the animal. Since then, Dog had faithfully waited at the back door for the daily garbage. Often, Dara stopped to talk to the animal, sharing her secret fears with her mute friend.  
  
Dog licked at the mess that landed on the packed dirt outside the door, and gave a silly canine grin. Dara grinned back, before her stepfather's frightful bellows brought her back into the kitchen.  
  
The night dragged on, with only two customers showing up, an elderly, toothless man with the twitchy look of a thief, and a fat wool merchant who quickly got sloppy drunk on Orsin's bad ale. Orsin spent quite a lot of time talking with the merchant, and near closing time, pointed at Dara and whispered into Orsin's ear, drawing out a worn leather purse.  
  
"Dara, sweetling, come here please." Orsin called. Instantly, Dara's muscles tensed, Orsin had never, ever called his stepdaughter 'sweetling.' Trembling, Dara walked over to Orsin and the merchant. "I'd like you to meet Hondell." Orsin shoved Dara none to gently towards the leering man. "I'd like you to take him upstairs and show him where the beds are."  
  
Knees weak with dread, Dara croaked "Please follow me, sir." She made her way up the groaning wooden staircase, the drunk wobbling behind her. They entered into a small, low attic, where mildewed straw mattresses were strewn on the floor. "If you don't need anything else, I'll take my leave." Dara said, heading for the stairs.  
  
With surprising quickness, Hondell blocked Dara's exit. "Oh, I needsh someting else." He brought his pockmarked face close to Dara's, his breath reeked of onion and beer.  
  
Roughly, he shoved Dara down to the cold stone floor, her head striking the floor, stunning her. When the stars cleared from her vision, Hondell had removed his shirt, and was fumbling with his belt. Dara screamed, wailing in pure terror as Hondell pulled his breaches down, revealing his loins. "We gunna have fun!" he slurred, ripping at Dara's linen smock.  
  
Suddenly, with a terrifying growl, a brown shape streaked from the stairs and by Dara, heading for Hondell. The merchant bellowed in agony as Dog sank his teeth into Hondell's half-erect manhood. Blood splattered on the floor as Dog placed himself between Dara and her assailant, snarling and snapping. Weak with relief, Dara gathered her smock to her exposed body. She had no idea how Dog had gotten in, but she was immensely glad he was there.  
  
Orsin thundered up the stairs, a rusty pitchfork in hand. Dog howled as the tines pierced his ribs, slamming him to the floor. Dara screamed, the animal's agony flooded her mind. It was too much, her vision swam, and she was pulled down into darkness, Dog's dying moans ringing in her ears.  
  
A warm autumn breeze flew gently over Companion's field, sending brightly colored leaves twirling in its' wake. Companions galloped up and down the field in high spirits, white manes and tails fluttering like banners. At the edge of a shallow pond, two young stallions splashed playfully, the sun turning the water droplets on their coats into rainbow hues.  
  
Tiring of the game, one of the stallions turned and walked away. His brother followed, trotting to catch up with him. : What's the matter? Don't you feel like playing? : Shilah Mindspoke. The other stallion turned around and looked at Shilah.  
  
: Not really.: Tynan replied. :I don't know why, but I just feel kind of. restless, for some reason.: Tynan looked up, the cloudless sky mirrored in his eyes. :Maybe go see Rolan in the Grove?: Shilah nudged his brother. :I've been told he gives good advice. I mean, even as Companions, we don't have all the answers.:  
  
Tynan bobbed his head :Thanks, I'll do that. See you back at the stables.: Quickening his pace to a canter, Tynan turned towards the Grove. While not on duty, Rolan could most often be found there, meditating.  
  
Pine needles crunched underhoof as Tynan paced through the undergrowth. The Grove was cool and silent, but had an aura of great age and spiritual power. Standing in a clearing, the ageless Companion Rolan stood still as a marble statue, head raised to the sun.  
  
:Greetings, young Tynan.: Rolan Mindspoke. :Greetings, Rolan: Tynan replied, a little in awe.  
  
:There is much on your mind: Rolan's voice was a statement, not a question. :Yes.: Tynan sighed :Although I love Companion's field and our Heralds, more and more these days, I have been feeling restless, like I want to get out into the world and explore.:  
  
Rolan chuckled :You are feeling the Calling, young Companion. Your Chosen is out there somewhere in this vast world, and you must set out to find him or her. Only then will you feel complete.:  
  
Tynan's sapphire eyes widened as he realized the truth in Rolan's words. :Thank you for the advice, I shall set out at sunset.:  
  
:Brightest Blessings to you and be careful, my son: Rolan replied as he watched Tynan trot away.  
  
Mind filled with purpose, Tynan almost bumped straight into Charisse. The mare snorted affectionately at the Companion she had raised as her son. :Watch where you're going, young rip. What is the matter?:  
  
:I need to go and find my Chosen: Tynan's eyes were filled with resolve. Charisse rubbed her velvet nose against Tynan's cheek. :Then go, and fulfill your destiny: :I will miss you, Charisse: Tynan choked :I will miss you too, return to me safely: Charisse's eyes held all the love in the world for the strong young Companion who had come to her one stormy night as a cold, frightened newborn foal so many years ago.  
  
Resolutely, Tynan entered the stable, where a young stablehand was mending a harness. The look in Tynan's eyes was as clear as a verbal command. Putting aside her work, the girl fetched a new saddle, bridle, and harness set of blue leather, adorned with tiny silver bells. Carefully, she tacked up the Companion, receiving a gentle nudge as thanks. Then, as the sun sank slowly in a glorious fall sunset, Tynan pounded away from the Collegium into the streets of Haven, to begin his search. 


	4. They Are Hungry For Adventure

Author's Note: In this chapter I might have misspelled some names and places. The Elsbeth mentioned is Elsbeth the first. Also, the names I use come from all parts of the word, such as Iolani's. If any fans out there have a list of the Queens and Kings of Valdemar, please respond. Again, I haven't read all M.L.'s books, so there are some blank spaces in my knowlage of Valdemar.  
  
"Bright Lady, I swear every day I get more of these reports!' Queen Iolani ran a hand through her silver curls, frowning at the document in her other hand. "What do you make of it, Zarah?" The Queen's Own took the letter of complaint and quickly scanned it. "No more or less than you do, Milady. I don't know why these nobles are fighting over a few acres of pastureland. Maybe poor choices in executers of estate?"  
  
"Pettiness springs eter." "Up, Granmaw!" a voice interrupted Iolani's thought. The Queen's three year old granddaughter, Elsbeth held out her chubby arms, begging to be held.  
  
"What do you say?" Iolani prompted the child. "Pwease?" Elsbeth chirped. The Queen hefted the toddler onto her lap and shook her head. "I'm just going to set these aside for the day, I promised Elsbeth we'd go for a ride on Justine.  
  
Zarah smiled "It can be hard balancing work and family. I'll see you tomorrow, have a good time." Zarah waved to her friend as she exited the Court. A young woman wearing Bardic colors dashed up to Zarah and caught her in a tight embrace.  
  
"Hi mum!" "Hi Blithe, sweetling." Zarah hugged her daughter back, stroking the seventeen year old's flyaway blond hair. "Back from your Harvestfest performance already? I swear, you've got the energy of a pack of kyree!"  
  
"Actually, I've heard that kyree can be quite lazy." A baritone voice commented jokingly. A young man in Whites strolled up, grinning insolently. "Smart mouth." Blithe clapped her friend Elvin affectionately on his broad shoulder.  
  
Elvin winked a hazel eye "And don't you forget it!" Zarah smiled to herself as the young adults talked enthusiastically. Elvin was half Shin'a'in, and short, with curly sable hair and golden skin. Chosen young at the age of ten, he had matured from a shy, homesick boy, into a confidant young man with a strong Fetching gift, often using his talent for practical jokes.  
  
"Well, I gotta run." Blithe picked up her glittern case and trotted to the door. "Zarah shook her head. I swear, that daughter of mine never stops moving for more than a second." Elvin chuckled "Well, I know that some stuffy old teachers who could use some livening up." Zarah cuffed his ear lightly. "You're incorrigible!" "I know it."  
  
Blithe slowed as she entered the expansive gardens. On a stone bench, a thin man sat, staring at his hands. "Hi daddy." Blithe hugged Laban's shoulder, and was rewarded with a slight smile. "I've come to sing for you for a while." No response from the man who had been mute for over a decade. It pained Blithe to see her father shutting out his world. In fact, her Bardic talent had emerged when she had first sung to Laban. Her music seemed to help his depression, but only a little. But Blithe never gave up.  
  
Tuning her glittern, she chattered lightly about the weather, than launched into a fast paced rhyming nonsense song. Healers, Heralds, and other Bards passing through stopped to listen, some joining in with the chorus. She sang several more songs, until a page came to fetch her for dinner. Talking her father's hand, Blithe lead him into the dining hall, seating him next to Elvin. Zarah, as usual, sat by the Queen's right at the head of the Court table.  
  
"How was the last tour of duty?" Blithe queried her friend, adding to the chatter in the dining hall. Elvin rolled his eyes as he buttered a piece of bread. "Boring! I mostly went around to farming towns, sometimes settling disputes with a simple Truth Spell. I'm not out looking for danger, but I wish I could find some excitement."  
  
A stout young woman in Whites looked up from across the table. "Really? My circuit partner fractured her leg crossing a river a few months ago, and I completed my circuit with a Healer traveling back to Haven. We were supposed to go to the borderlands around the Peligers, but had to turn back in the spring due to an ice storm." The Herald shuddered. "Personally, I'd just as soon avoid that area. Changelings and other odd things abound in the forests."  
  
"Actually, I've wanted to return to the general area." Elvin grinned "I haven't seen my mother in eight years. Last I heard, she was studying with the Hawkbrothers to polish her Mage-Adept skills."  
  
"Wow, I never knew your mother was a Mage." Blithe's blue eyes widened. "There's a lot you don't know about me." Elvin replied, rather mysteriously. "I've been thinking about a journey myself." Blithe continued "I've grown rather bored with my standard repertoire of songs. I want to learn some Outland ballads and history."  
  
Elvin bounded up from the table, his dinner forgotten at the prospect of an adventure with his best friend and his Companion. "I have to ask Kineta what she thinks." He grabbed Blithe's hand and hauled her up. "C'mon! Time waits for no one."  
  
A small, fine featured Companion cantered up to meet Elvin and Blithe halfway across Companion's Field. She obviously possessed the same mischievous spark as her Chosen, for she promptly grabbed Elvin's cloak, which was slung over one arm, and took off like a demon in the other direction.  
  
"Hey! You brat!" the young man dashed after Kineta, using words on her that would have burned the ears off anyone who came within 100 yards. Kineta reared and bobbed her head, sending the cloak flying out of her mouth, thoroughly covered with spit. Elvin spat out a final string of four letter words and shook his head ruefully at Blithe. "She's upset because I didn't bring her a couple apples off the dinner table."  
  
: I'll rip your breaches off your backside, next time: Kineta sent, but without malice. "Well, dearheart, you were no doubt eavesdropping on me during my meal." Elvin rubbed Kineta's nose. : No doubt that I was.: "So? What do you think, because you certainly know better than I do about almost everything in the universe." Blithe giggled "She might have been better at History lessons than you!" "I'm a slow learner." Elvin mock pouted. "In't my fault that miss Bard has a mind like a steel trap."  
  
:All teasing aside: Kineta interjected "I'd love to get out on the roads again. I'm going to pasture here, no puns intended.: Elvin groaned "Since when does a Companion worry about her figure?" :Well, some of my fellows could use a bit of healthy physical activity.: Kineta impishly sent a mental image of Justine.  
  
Elvin's thick eyebrows quirked. "Oooh! I'm telling on you!!" :You try, and you walk back to the Collegium with a fresh breeze blowing on your hindquarters, beloved!: 


	5. The Companion Finds the Chosen

Dara woke suddenly as something cool and damp dripped on her brow. Her head throbbed with a furious headache, and her dry lips tasted of blood. Opening her eyes carefully, she focused on a thin, dark haired woman standing with her back turned to Dara.  
  
"Mother?" Dara whispered hoarsely. The woman started and whirled around. Trying to shake off her pain and confusion, Dara struggled to place who the woman was. With a sudden chill, Dara recognized the woman as Mercy, the head of a local Assassin's Guild, claimed to be a merciless fighter and poor choice to cross. Dara was lying on something soft, and there was a wooden ceiling above, so she assumed she must be in Mercy's house on the outskirts of Glensfarr.  
  
Mercy approached the pallet on which Dara was lying, her agate eyes unreadable. "By the Hells, you're lucky to be alive, lass." The assassin reached down, and Dara squirmed away from her taloned hand "Are you going to kill me?"  
  
Mercy frowned "Git it through yer head, child. I'm the one who saved your carcass." With surprising tenderness, Mercy picked up the compress on Dara's forehead, and wiped the caked blood from the girl's face. "T'was just passin' by the Mule and Cart on me way home, and I hears a tremendous row, and a dog howlin'. A man comes stumblin' out in a fair mess, breeches all bloodied, and he's screamin that he'll have Orsin's head. Orsin comes out, nearly piddlin' hisself, and tosses a dog carcass out on the street, looked like the beast died a damned painful death. Then th' son of a bitch tells Mr. Bloody Crotch he can have the girl in return for all the pain he's suffered. He shoves you out the door, you're half conscious and weepin' like your heart was broke. The bloody drunk shakes you like a rag doll, and starts backhanding you. Tha's when I got mad, I jumps off my nag, and stuns th' bastard with the handle of me dagger (always keep a good dagger on you, child). Before that ass Orsin can react, I slung ya over the pillion, an' got out of there posthaste. They'll come lookin' for ya soon, I wager."  
  
Tears streamed afresh down Dara's cheeks as she remembered what had occurred. Something wasn't right, besides the headache, something deep within her felt raw or burned, and she was keenly aware of Mercy's smoldering anger at Orsin, and maternal concern for Dara.  
  
"Git up, see if ya can stand." Mercy grabbed Dara's hands and hauled her to her feet. Dara gasped and staggered, light flashed inside her head, forming the image of a white horse, flying like fire over a dark landscape. Mercy grabbed Dara's arms and ordered "Walk."  
  
Dara limped forward a few inches. "No bones broken, you're just bruised somethin' awful." "Why did you save me?" Dara whimpered, her emotions overwhelmed, astounded by the assassin's act of kindness. Mercy winced, turning over her wrists, where a skull and crossbones and a dagger with blood running down the blade were tattooed. "Ey, appearances ain't everything. This old hired killer had children too, once."  
  
Embarrassed, Mercy grabbed a thin blanket and a small dagger off a chair, and a worn leather sack off the table. "Here." She thrust the items into Dara's hands. "Here, take 'em. There's a few silvers in the pouch." Opening the door to a brisk fall night, Mercy shoved at Dara. "Go! Git runnin', girl. Luck be with you."  
  
Confused, Dara stumbled out into the darkness, and forced her legs to work. Despite he fear and pain, Dara was keenly aware of the slightest sounds in the night as she ran, not knowing where she was going.  
  
Suddenly, she stumbled and tripped over a rock. Too tired to move, she lay on the cold earth, falling into semi-consciousness. Heavy footsteps vibrated the ground, and leaves rustled in a breeze. Dara moaned, trying to move, but a heel came down on the back of her neck.  
  
"What do we have here? Some whelp of the town?" a male voice grated. "Kick 'er over, so's I can see." Replied a female voice, equally harsh as the man's. With a jolt to her ribs, Dara was rolled over onto her back. Two hooded figures stared down at her, features indistinguishable. "Ugly liddle scrap, nowhere good enough to sell." The woman said. "She's got a money pouch on 'er." The man ripped the wallet from Dara's numb hands. "Bah! Just a few silver. Nearly nothing!" "Kill 'er then." The woman's voice was cold, dispassionate.  
  
Closing her eyes, Dara heard the twang of a bowstring, and the clack of a wooden arrow, then a deafening equine squeal of rage. Something large jumped over her, and stood with hooves planted foursquare around her.  
  
Opening her eyes, Dara saw the underside of the great white horse as it squealed again, and reared up, kicking. There was an awful crunch as the beast's hooves smashed one of the raiders' skull. The other raider, the one holding the coin purse, took off with a strangled yell. The horse snorted and swung his head around to look at Dara.  
  
The animal's blue eyes seemed to go on forever, like a bottomless lake. They radiated concern and unconditional love. A rich voice echoed inside her head. "Chosen! I love you, I will never leave you, not ever. You are my Chosen, and I am Companion Tynan. We are now one, as we were two. Come!"  
  
Tynan lowered his head, and shaking badly, Dara supported herself on the Companion's neck and climbed to her feet. With superhuman effort, she scrambled up into the saddle, and Tynan took off like a white arrow. The quiet morning dawn found the Companion and his newly Chosen sleeping the sleep of pure exhaustion in a small grove of trees, the redheaded girl's arms wrapped around the white horse's neck. 


End file.
